


The Ache for Home

by LuminousGloom



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Community: rs_games, First War with Voldemort, Friendship, Longing, Love, M/M, Melancholy, Post-Hogwarts, R/S Games 2016, Romance, Second War with Voldemort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-27 21:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8417908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuminousGloom/pseuds/LuminousGloom
Summary: R/S Games 2016 - Day 22 - Team PlaceRemus voices an idea he’s had on his mind for a long time. A dream, really, since it seems selfish, and impossible. But he proposes it anyway. “Listen,” he begins tentatively. “How about we go away for a few days?”Getting away from it all, in difficult times, Sirius and Remus get to grips with where they belong.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **Team:** Place  
>  **Title:** The Ache for Home  
>  **Rating:** PG  
>  **Warnings:** None  
>  **Genres:** Romance, Longing, Melancholy, Love, Friendship, Post Hogwarts, First Wizarding War, Second Wizarding War, Reasonably Canon  
>  **Word Count:** 9800  
>  **Summary:** "The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned."  
>  **Notes:** Thank you to the Mods for staging the games! It’s been loads of fun. And particular thanks to M for your sage input!  
>  **Prompt:** #65 - "The ache for home lives in all of us, the safe place where we can go as we are and not be questioned." - Maya Angelou

I.

The sun is very low when Sirius Apparates into the small, hidden car park at the end of their road. Whistling a half remembered tune, he walks along the sooty Victorian terrace. When he spots his own top floor windows with the peeling white paintwork, he notes with some relief that they are open. This is good news. He’s had two more pints than strictly necessary, killing time, hoping that Remus might still join them at the Bard and Bell, or that at the very least he would find him home when he got back. He’s been dreading the possibility that Remus might not return for the full moon at all. As he approaches he can hear the music blaring, and he grins. The record is a recent acquisition, simple three chord rhythms racing along with thundering drums and wild, shouty vocals. Remus is definitely in.

Sirius unlocks the battered front door, jogs up four dim flights of stairs, and lets himself into their flat. “Moony?” he calls over the raucous music. 

Remus is slumped on the blue sofa in the living room, his eyes are closed and he’s gripping a mug of tea. He jumps when Sirius calls his name again. “Oh, hello, Pads,” he mouths with a smile, blinking. 

“Been back long?” Sirius shouts over an energetic drum solo.

Reaching for the Muggle record player perched on a side table, Remus turns down the volume. “Only half an hour or so.” His face is ashen, he looks exhausted, but there is that telltale yellow flash in his eyes. “I took the train.”

“The _Muggle_ train?” Sirius asks, perplexed. “Why?”

“Dunno, I wanted to travel slowly, I suppose. I needed time to think.”

“Right.” Sirius nods, as though this makes any sense to him, and drops onto the sofa next to Remus. He leans in for a kiss, and cupping his boyfriend’s cheek he feels the tension in him like a tightly coiled spring, feels the energy thrumming beneath his skin. Sirius lets go of him and says huskily, “Hello.”

“How’s things, good day at the pub?” Remus inquires with a smile. “Tell me about the match!”

“It was _brilliant,_ ” Sirius beams at the memory, the British and Irish league quarter final he went to see on Bodmin moor two days ago with Pete, Prongs, Evans, and McKinnon. “Harpies didn't win, obviously, but it was a really good game…” Remembering why Remus couldn't join them, he adds more soberly, “Well. You didn't miss much. But Prongs reckons he might be able to get tickets to the final. You've got to come then, even if it's Bats vs Magpies.”

“Yeah, definitely… If I can.”

Sirius nods, eyeing him carefully. “How was it? Is your mum any better?”

“Not really,” Remus sighs, sitting back. “She’s not well at all. I think I’d better go back up again next week.”

“Shall I come? I’d like to.”

“I don’t know, Pads.” Remus takes a long sip of tea. “It’s just very stressful. Not at all fun. My dad is a wreck. And they both keep fussing over me, it's ridiculous. They kept going on about how worried they are. About - this, obviously,” he gestures at his body - tense, restless and off colour, displaying all the telltale signs of a werewolf close to turning. Moony doesn't usually acknowledge the fact he changes at all before the full moon. “And they wouldn't stop going on about my future, as though… I’m not exactly sure why. Perhaps it’s a displacement activity.”

“So let me come along and assuage their worries,” Sirius tries again. “I’ve always got on well with your parents, I’ll remind them you’re in good hands?”

Remus smiles, and shakes his head. “Thank you, but I'm not sure that'll work. They still don’t - I mean...” He lets out a long sigh. “They don’t ever mention us, do they,” he says savagely. “I don't think they're in denial or anything – I mean, my mum's always seemed all right with the fact I like blokes. But they never ask about anything, it's as though they don't want to know. I suspect it’s worrying them, too.” He sighs again.

“How dare they,” Sirius huffs, shaking his head. “I might not fit their idea of the perfect son in law, but you're happy enough, aren't you? And I always thought your mum likes me.”

Remus gives him an affectionate shove. “Of course she does, you vain git. It's not actually about you. It's about - prejudice, I think. Other people. Muggles.”

“Right,” Sirius says, deflated. “That old chestnut. Despised by wizards for being a werewolf, hated by Muggles for being a poof?”

“She's not exactly wrong, is she.”

“Maybe not,” Sirius admits. “But they do know you are one extremely capable wizard. _And_ you're going out with one. You are making a living. There’s room for improvement, obviously - but things could be a lot worse. It's not like you're sad and destitute and lonely.”

“No,” Remus sighs, “I'm sad and destitute and with you.”

Unsure how to take this, Sirius elbows him in the side, coaxing a wan smile onto Moony’s lips, then leans in again to kiss his throat. “I'm glad you're back,” he mumbles against the heated skin. “I was half expecting them to keep you there.”

“No chance,” Remus says gruffly, wrapping his arm around Sirius’ back, holding him close. “I’m not spending another full moon there unless I absolutely have to. So what’s the plan, then? What did Prongs and Wormtail say, can they make it?”

“Just try and stop them,” Sirius frowns. “Prongs is already chomping at the bit, so to speak, and Pete is rearing to go.”

“Oh.” Remus smiles, lets go of Sirius and relaxes back into the cushions, closing his eyes again. “That's good.” 

“Peter was wondering whether we should try elsewhere tonight? He was talking about the New Forest.”

Remus shakes his head. “No,” he says sharply. “Not tonight.” Sirius can feel Moony's muscles tightening and twitching, and decides to give him some space.

“Right,” he says breezily, moving to get up. “The shack it is. I was going to cook us something, are you hungry? I’ve got some steaks in…” as though this is a random thing. As though he doesn’t make sure there’s some hefty bit of meat to eat before every full moon, something rare and bloody for Moony to get his teeth into.

Remus nods, going along with the pretense. Sirius knows he appreciates it; it just makes everything easier. Before Sirius is out of reach Remus briefly catches his hand and gives it a squeeze. “Thank you, Pads.” he says softly. “And _you_ know I’m happy enough. More than enough.”

Sirius flashes him a grin and as he heads for their kitchen, Remus lifts the little arm on the record player back to the beginning and turns the volume up.

 

\---

 

Exhausted, Sirius returns at noon, feeling somewhat queasy, with a throbbing head. He can’t remember eating anything strange in the Forbidden Forest last night, perhaps he’s coming down with something. Anyway there’s no way he can concentrate on anything in this state, so he’s come home for lunch. His heart sinks when he finds their bedroom empty. Since Remus' mother has taken a turn for the worse, so has the wolf. 

There’s a small second bedroom - Moony's share of the rent, and just a front to appease Muggle sensibilities about two young men sharing a flat together. More of a study, really, a narrow single bed surrounded by books stacked precariously all over the floor, with more piled into a creaking bookcase, and onto a rather beautiful battered old writing desk that Sirius found in the street. 

James has been known to crash on that bed when too pissed to Floo or Apparate, as has Peter. Staggering blindly in the grey first light of morning, Remus will retreat to his 'own' room only if he's seriously unwell, seeking refuge and solitude. Curled up on the sagging mattress, his face pressed into a dusty pillow, he hides himself away, safe in the silent, abstract realm of his books, of stories and inquisitive thought. It's a bad sign. The pain must be harsh, possibly accompanied by that dark mental anguish he sometimes falls into.

From the other room Sirius might hear the odd deep and muffled moan, enough for him to turn into Padfoot and squeeze in next to his friend. When Remus is in a bad way he'll refuse all human company, but he won't turn away the dog. 

This morning Sirius had to leave for the Auror Academy stupidly early. Since then, Remus hasn't moved an inch. He’s still out cold, rigid, dead to the world. Sirius approaches, touches his back gently. It doesn't feel especially hot, Sirius ascertains, and Remus has not gone a strange colour either - he's all right. After the moon he’s always eerily quiet, his breathing long and slow, his body so still it almost seems paralysed. It's the sleep of profound exhaustion, of recovery, Sirius knows, and although it a bit unnerving, he knows it's good and necessary. 

Still, Remus seems so very far away, lost in some distant place where no one can follow. Sirius doesn't like it. But he's learnt to be patient, to get on with other things and leave Remus to it. The rousing is usually difficult. It can make him angry, cantankerous, bad tempered in that quiet way Moony has, frowning and mumbling incoherent gibberish.

Letting him come to with a steaming cup of tea waiting by his bedside is a good idea. Better yet, hot chocolate, charmed not to cool until the mug is lifted. Sirius follows this idea into their small, sunny kitchen, rifles through their cupboards until he locates a bar of Honeyduke’s Darkest, which he proceeds to chop finely. He decides he's not going back to the Academy today. He's tired, and though he’d never admit it to James, least of all to Remus, or even to himself, he’d rather sort of keep an eye on Moony. There will be questions tomorrow, but Sirius doesn't give a damn. Who knows how much longer they’ll keep up the training, anyway. He stirs the chocolate into the little pot of steaming milk and cream - thick and rich, not too sweet - before pouring the concoction into a large mug and applying the charm.  
Remus hasn't moved at all when Sirius places the drink on a pile of books by his bedside. If he were awake, he’d probably be telling him off. Thanks, Pads, now piss off, he’d grumpily say to him. Stop playing nurse, will you. And Sirius would crack some joke, and leave him to it.

 

Out on the street, blinking in the bright sunshine, Sirius shoves his hands deep into his pockets and begins to walk aimlessly down towards the main road, peering into the shop selling fishing tackle, past the betting shop and the Turkish grocer’s, where he admires in passing the artful arrangements of plantains and peaches, of red and yellow Scotch bonnets, and shiny plums. He buys himself a cheese sandwich and walks on, rounding large displays of household goods piled up on the pavement. 

“Oh! Hello,” he says around a mouthful of bread and cheddar, stopping dead in front of Lily Evans - tall and radiant in a green summer dress, her auburn hair loose about her shoulders. “What are you doing here?”

“Hi Sirius,” she smiles, squinting in the sun. “I was on my way to see Remus. Didn't think you'd be around, shouldn't you be at Auror training? Didn't I hear something about advanced defensive magic today…?”

“Yeah, I went in this morning. Didn't feel up to it, came home again. Not feeling that great.”

“Oh.” She stares at him, alarmed. “Was it - you didn't run into trouble last night, did you? James didn't say anything-”

“No, nothing like that,” he reassures her quickly. “It was fine. Just - tired, you know.” He clears his throat and points at the dark green and gold Harpies pennant merrily fluttering from her shoulder bag. “Still not taken that off, then?”

“Brilliant, wasn't it?” Evans smiles at it and then up at Sirius, and shrugs. “So is Remus all right to visit?”

“Sure, feel free - but you won't get much out of him, he's still out for the count. I'm just going for a little walk, he should be up in a bit.”

“Right.” She looks up the road thoughtfully, then back at Sirius. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.” Sirius realises he means it. He’d not expected suddenly to be spending time with Evans, but he'd actually like the company. They start down the hill, heading towards Camden.

“You like your walks, don't you,” she says. “Do you think that's a dog thing?”

“I dunno, maybe.” He shrugs, devouring the rest of his sandwich. The road is noisy, there's a lingering haze of fumes. All around then Muggles push buggies, or hurry along carrying briefcases or shopping bags.

“James told me about your brother,” she says after a bit. “I was so sorry to hear it, can't be easy.”

“Thanks,” Sirius says rather stiffly. “Well, Regulus has been a prick for ages. It’s not come as much of a surprise that he's just gone and made it official.”

“I've got a sister like that. But she's a Squib. Or a Muggle, I suppose. She's a real pain, but at least I know she won't be joining You Know Who anytime soon. In fact, according to her _I'm_ the one who's pure evil.”

“Oh,” Sirius grins. “Welcome to the club. I've got a whole list of titles - the utter disgrace, an embarrassment, blood traitor, a stain on the house of Black... Or used to, anyway. I'm sure that by now I've become unmentionable.”

“Really?” Evans looks genuinely shocked.

Sirius makes a dismissive gesture. “Much better this way.”

Evans nods, frowning deeply. “I don't get on with my family either, you know,” she says after a bit. “It’s the Muggle side, hating anything to do with magic. Ironic, isn’t it, considering what’s going on at the moment. If they were Wizarding, I bet they and your parents would be great mates.”

This idea makes Sirius chuckle. “Shame, isn’t it,” he sighs. “Bigots everywhere.”

“Merlin, yes,” she says darkly. “And they’re the ones gaining power. It’s a tragedy. Anyway, when it comes to family, I've always envied people like James, or even Remus.” 

“James has got it made, the lucky sod.” Sirius angles for a cigarette in his jacket pocket and lights it by snapping his fingers. “Everything all right between the two of you?”

“Yes, of course,” she beams. “We’re grand. Funny, isn’t it, on a gorgeous day like today you’d never even think anything like a war might be about to happen.” 

They're forced to walk single file along some roadwork barriers. When one of the builders wolf whistles at Evans, she ignores him, but Sirius can't help beaming at the bloke, swinging his hips suggestively and telling him, "Thank you!" Of course there's the inevitable barrage of abuse, but Sirius just laughs it off.

They round the queue outside a fried chicken shop. Evans gives Sirius a sideways glance. “You and Remus probably get your fair share of hassle, don’t you? Living here, I mean, amongst Muggles, the two of you?”

“Yes,” Sirius looks at her curiously. He hasn’t really talked about this with anyone but Remus. “It’s a nightmare, actually. And bloody boring. At first I kept forgetting about it, you know, the not snogging, not even touching in public and that. Even now I couldn’t care less; if they’re offended it’s their problem. But Remus is very - aware of it.”

“He just wants to get on with people, doesn’t he,” she shrugs. “Even if it makes his own life a misery. And with his, um, illness - I mean, I guess he’s never had much of a choice.”

“Probably not,” Sirius agrees. Damned perceptive, he thinks. No wonder she and Moony get on so well. They’d make a truly frightening pair of inquisitors. He blows a little smoke ring. “I dunno. His mum is a Muggle and she seems to be all right with him going out with a bloke. I think they’re just less enchanted with the idea that that bloke is me.”

“Really?” Evans sounds doubtful. “They’re probably just worried that one day soon you’ll come to your senses and cast him out. Because some people would. And they don’t know that you can – that you enjoy running with an _actual_ werewolf.”

Sirius takes a long drag on his cigarette. He’s never thought of it this way before. Of course, the idea that he might leave Remus seems absurd.

They pass under the railway bridge and climb down a flight of steps to the canal. After the busy road, the towpath is very quiet, the water black and still, with just a few ducks paddling along.

“How was last night, then?” Evans asks. “From what James said it must have been fun.”

“Yeah, it was good.” As they stroll towards Camden Lock, Sirius recounts their unspectacular night in the shack and the Forbidden Forest. She listens with undisguised fascination, and asks lots of questions. As it turns out, James’ retelling of Prongs’ full moon adventures isn’t up to much – or at least it’s a lot less detailed. 

“And he does go on about the size of his antlers quite a lot,” she explains with a long-suffering sigh. “I would like to see Moony, though,” she adds dreamily. It’s strange to hear her use that name.

“Dunno if you really would. He’s fairly terrifying.”

“Like in the pictures?”

“Not at all.” Sirius shakes his head. “He’s - magnificent. But dangerous, obviously. He’s still convinced that he might just kill someone, easily, without any inhibitions.”

“But you lot don’t think that’s true?” 

“I honestly don’t know. If he picks up a scent, he’ll turn ferocious very quickly. But underneath it all, he’s always Remus, you know?”

She seems to consider this. “It’s strange, I’ve never talked to him about it. Any mention of it seems to mortify him. But listening to you lot it’s as though you’re proud of him.”

“Course we are,” Sirius frowns. “He’s amazing. And - I don’t know how any of us would cope if it was us, I’m still not sure how he does it, to be honest.”

“Was he any different last night, then?” Evans looks at him earnestly. “I mean, how is he, really? He's not been saying much at all.”

“Not great,” Sirius shrugs. “His mum's a lot worse. It's awful. And he's being hard on himself.”

“What's new,” she smiles sadly.

They pass under a low, dark bridge. “It's difficult,” Sirius huffs. “He won't let me help him. There's nothing I can say. I can't know what it's like, I've only ever hated my parents, as he keeps reminding me. And of course he's right.”

Evans nods, as though she's heard this before. “I s’ppose - none of us have any idea what this is like, either. To have to face the fact that you might lose your mum...”

“He reckons I've no idea what it's like to even have a family.” Sirius says darkly. “A real family that loves you, I mean. I just know what it's like to have no one at all.”

“That's not true. You've always had your friends. And the Potters.”

“A _home,_ then. You know.” Sirius shrugs.

“Don't you have one now, though? With Remus? If that isn't a home, I don't know what is.”

“Ugh.” He makes a face. “We're not actually that boring and domesticated.”

“What I mean is - a home is just a safe place, isn't it? Somewhere we can go as we are, and not be questioned. That's what we all long for, really. Doesn't have to be your _parents_. Can be as unruly as you like.”

Staring, Sirius is mesmerised by her kind green eyes for a moment. Then he frowns at the ground. “Yeah, I suppose,” he says, wondering why he's always underestimating Evans. It's not that he dislikes her - after all, James is besotted with her, and Remus and she are close friends. She's definitely all right. It’s just - that he's always vaguely resented her, so he’s always kept his distance.

A brightly painted narrowboat chugs past slowly. Sirius lights another cigarette. “I just wish I could do something for him.”

“Help him get away from it all,” she suggests. “Take him out of himself.”

“You mean, like a holiday?”

“Why not?” she smiles. “He's always going on about all these places he wants to visit.”

Sirius likes the sound of this. “I’ve always wanted to go to Tangiers…” he says dreamily. “Or to New York! Or Tokyo...” 

“Well,” Evans clears her throat. “I was thinking - even if you go to Whitstable for the day. Or to Brighton, or Southend. You get the idea.”

\---

The following evening, Sirius pushes open their front door to find Remus in the hall, pale in the semi-darkness, sitting on the floor. It’s a warm night, the windows are still open. Before him lies a heap of paper printed with columns of numbers, which must be bills, and he’s scowling at the clunky black Muggle thing that came with the flat, called a telephone, with its curly cable and its slow rotary dial.

“I’ve told you we should get this fixed!” Remus spits by way of a greeting, fiddling with the Muggle apparatus, “Bloody owls are useless, they take forever, don’t they.”

“Right,” Sirius pauses. “What’s happened?”

Remus takes a deep breath, still staring at the telephone. “She's had to go into hospital.”

“Your mum?” 

“She got worse as soon as I left. They’ve sent Blodeuwedd,” he indicates the small snowy owl snoozing on the dresser, “but it took her forever to get here.”

“How bad is she?”

“They’re keeping her in.” Remus’ shoulders rise and shudder precariously.

Sirius doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. He kneels on the floor next to Remus and draws him into a hug.

It’s a firm, strong hug. And suddenly, for the first time since they were about eleven, Remus cries properly. He weeps, and sobs. He soaks Sirius’ t-shirt with hot tears.

Sirius holds him. Eventually Moony's breathing eases, Sirius can feel him collecting himself, but he holds on nonetheless. Outside, Muggle sirens pass in the distance.

In a strange way, it's these moments that he treasures most, that he thinks of with a sort of awe. Quiet, intimate. Feeling the other person there, warm and solid. Knowing they will be there, without question. A rock to cling to, someone with whom to weather the storm. None of it need even be said out loud. In these moments surely Remus must know that Sirius is with him, completely, unconditionally. Just as Sirius knows he can depend on Remus, whatever happens.

\---

Somehow the front door bangs shut more loudly than he intended it to. The flat is strangely silent. Listening for any signs of life, Sirius impatiently wrestles his way out of his jacket and kicks off his muddy boots. 

He finds Remus in the kitchen. Wand in hand, hunched over a fat book, impatiently rifling through its wispy pages, and repeatedly scowling at his left thumb. Herbs are scattered all over the table and two other battered books lie open at his elbow. More disconcerting are the sharpest kitchen knife and the bloody handkerchief.

“All right, Moony? What's all this?"

“Hello. It’s nothing," Remus growls. "I’ll have it sorted in a minute."

"Let me see," Sirius nonchalantly grabs and turns his friend’s left hand, lifting it to examine it closely. The tips of the fingers have taken on a vivid shade of blue, and the thumb has turned positively electric. Thick droplets of blood collect and run from a small cut in which is lodged some sort of thorn. 

"Ow! Leave it," Remus tries to pull his hand away, but Sirius holds on tight.

"Wrathwort, is it? Hang on." He draws his wand. "This is going to sting a bit."

He scrutinises the small wound intently before bringing the thumb up to his lips and biting down hard. Remus cries out in surprise, then watches, open mouthed, as Sirius pulls back, extracting the thorn with bared teeth, and spits it onto the kitchen table. The thing glints in the lamplight, shiny black and hooked and oozing a pink, opalescent liquid. Sirius points his wand at his friend’s blue tinged fingers and applies a cooling charm and a quick patching-up spell before letting go of the hand.

"Thank you," Remus says, perplexed, inspecting the result. "How on earth…? I’ve just spent hours trying to identify it. And I couldn’t get it out, nothing seemed to work."

"Yeah, you can't do it yourself, requires someone else to do it for you. Horrible stuff. And obscure, I s’ppose you only know it if you know it, one of those. Grows in my parents’ garden. Or used to, anyway."

“Right. Wrathwort, did you say?" 

"Yeah." Sirius can't suppress a small smile. True to form, Moony is already leafing through his book again, looking it up. "Nefarious Wrathwort, actually, might be under N. It's a jinxed plant, and inconspicuous. Until you get near it."

He reaches for the bottle of firewhisky and two tumblers and pours out two generous measures. "Where d’you run into such top notch noxious vegetation then?"

"Work," Remus says darkly. His current job involves helping to restore an old Wizarding garden belonging to a crumbling villa up in Highgate. What had at first sounded like a tolerable way of making a Galleon soon turned out to be glorified hard labour while answering to a nasty foreman. "Where've you been?" Moony asks irritably.

"Bad day?"

Remus shrugs, still turning pages. 

Sirius throws several ice cubes into the drinks, the ice clinks and cracks. Downing a large gulp from one, he sets the other glass on the table. "Same here." He sighs and drinks some more. 

"Oh?" Remus looks up. "What’s happened?"

"Nothing in particular - well. I was at the pub with Prongs. It's been a rough day. We’ve had a long chat and a thorough discussion, and um - we've decided that - it's probably time now. To stop."

Remus’ eyes are on him, searching him, frowning slightly. “Stop Auror training? I thought -”

They've talked about this before, once or twice. Sirius and James reckoned they'd have to pack it in if things got worse, if an actual war were to break out. They've been fervently hoping it wouldn't have to come to this. "Yeah. We've been trying to avoid it, but it's no use. Time to knock it on the head."

Remus takes a long swig of whisky. "Already?"

Sirius nods, running a hand through his unruly hair. "We can’t do both. Training is becoming really full on, and after this last spate of attacks - we've got to do all we can for the Order. There’s talk of Death Eaters trying to infiltrate the Ministry. Once they’re entrenched - it’ll be much too dangerous. We’d better bow out now."

"Of course. I can see that - it does make sense." Remus sighs. "I’m sorry, Pads. What a rotten decision to have to make." They both knock back more of their whisky.

"Too right." Sirius huffs and eyes his glass. "Rotten times to be living in. D’you want another?"

Remus shakes his head. "Let's go out."

"I dunno, Moony…” Sirius says, thinking that he really doesn't feel like meeting anyone, that he hasn't got the energy to do anything. Then he remembers what Evans said. And he has an idea that instantly brightens his mood.

“How about a spin on the old motorbike?” he says tentatively. “We’ll go to the seaside? Or wherever it takes us. Have a drink somewhere. See the ocean roar. Look at the stars..."

“Yeah, all right.” Remus nods, getting up. “Come on then.”

 

The evening is warm, there’s hardly a breeze at all. Sirius loves the feel of the engine between his legs, of Remus’ body against his back. The view below is spectacular, as the sun goes down and roads and villages and towns light up. When they come across a patch of colourful, flashing lights, Moony insists that they investigate. Sirius could ride on all night, but he’s in no mood to argue. They land, and hide the bike, and approach the place in question.

“You mean to say you've never been to a funfair before?” Remus asks again.

Sirius gives him a look of utter disbelief. “A Muggle thing, with fun actually in the title?! Not in a million years. I've been to the arcades at the the back of - um…” He decides perhaps not to elaborate on his occasional youthful forays into Knockturn Alley.

But Remus just grins at him. “Come on then. You'll like this.”

The noise is quite deafening. Disembodied voices echo across the fairground, a cacophony of thumping songs blaring all at once - it's very unlike any of the Muggle music Remus has had him listening to. People scream at intervals out of fear or excitement, as various Muggle contraptions expose them to the laws of gravity. This, Sirius quickly learns, apparently is the point of a funfair.

He’s entranced by the moving colours, the dazzling lights flashing everywhere. From the food stalls waft the tempting aromas of sizzling meat and sausages, of pink clouds of spun sugar, red toffee apples, and roasted nuts.

They purchase paper tokens and try various rides. First the circular spinning things that Remus refers to as a carousel and a waltzer, respectively. Sirius likes the waltzer, with its wavy floor and dizzying motion, and though he enjoys the lights and pictures on the carousel he's puzzled by the actual ride itself, which seems a bit pointless. They give the towering red and white helter skelter a miss for the same reason, even though the teenage and middle-aged Muggles hurling themselves down the spiral slide squeal with delight on their way down.

Muggles seem strangely excitable about these things, happy to screech and whoop at anything at all. Sirius and Remus take a ride on a narrow sort of train that hurtles them along a wildly looping track, apparently called a roller coaster, and all around them Muggles go mental. Throwing their hands in the air, screaming almost constantly, making a fearful racket. 

Sirius enjoys it, but he is mystified by the experience. “A bit like Quidditch, isn't it,” he says afterwards. “Without any balls, obviously. Or any of the actual Quidditch.”

They have to queue before getting on the most impressive looking ride, which spins clusters of seats one way while the whole thing rotates another, lifting them high up into the air, tilting them this way and that, causing everything around them to blur into colourful smudges of light, while all the Muggles scream their lungs out. Afterwards, people around them teeter away unsteadily, some of them looking positively green. 

“What did you think?” Remus asks, grinning.

Sirius shrugs, wondering if they stand out very much, walking away as they are, so patently unperturbed. “Remember that Comet 500 I had in Third Year, the one that kept going wrong? That's what that was like.”

“Yes,” Remus laughs. It's the most carefree, genuinely happy laugh he's laughed in ages. “This place is for children, really,” he explains then, almost apologetically. “And teenagers. And drunk older people.”

“I like it,” Sirius insists. “It's interesting.”

They walk past stalls inviting punters to hook ducks, to throw hoops and balls to win soft toys and coconuts. Remus tries his luck with an air rifle, he shoots three times, managing to splinter and break two plastic pegs. When he's handed his prize of a little purple pocket knife he solemnly presents it to Sirius. 

“Romance not dead, then,” Sirius smiles, admiring his present. “Thank you! Didn't have to cheat, though.”

“Cheat?!” Remus protests indignantly. “Who was cheating?”

“I saw you, murmuring at that shooting gun.”

“Only to adjust the sight,” Remus shrugs. “Those rifles are rigged. I know showmen need to make a living, too, but it seems a bit fairer this way.”

“Right,” Sirius throws his arm around Remus and pockets his little present. “In that case, I am deeply impressed. How d’you even know how to shoot that thing? Did you come to these places a lot as a child?”

“Not really,” Remus stiffens a little, only allowing them three paces of bodily contact before breaking away nervously. “I went with my dad a few times, he had this theory about boggarts hiding in ghost trains…” He points at a dark structure decked out in large and garishly painted skeletons, and figures with huge teeth and bleeding eyes.

Frustrated, Sirius actually draws his wand, and casts a little disillusionment charm. Then he pulls Remus close again. “There,” he says quietly. “And do they? Hide in ghost trains?”

“I don't actually know. But I doubt it, to be honest. It would improve ghost trains greatly if they had boggarts, though, as they are they’re pretty rubbish. At least the ones I've been on.”

“Rubbish how? What do they make the ghosts do?”

Remus grins. “There are no actual ghosts, Pads. They try and scare you with puppets. And with sudden, jerky movements and eerie lighting, and spooky sounds.”

They end up down by the pier, a long wooden structure extending high above the water, far from the shore. Fireworks bloom above, popping and fizzing and crackling, howling and whistling like comets before they explode into sparkling cascades of light. 

Sirius wraps one arm around Remus’ shoulders, who relaxes against him. 

“Good to see you smile, Moony.” he says casually. “Who knows… Maybe - she'll improve.”

“She won't.” 

Sirius nods, and swallows. “Yeah. I know.”

“She's asked after you.” Remus says lightly. 

“Has she now?” 

“Both of them, actually. _How are things at home,_ my dad wanted to know. _Is Sirius ok_.”

“At _home_ …?” Sirius repeats, and he can’t help grinning.

“He’d heard something about Regulus being a Death Eater. My mum is really worried about it – and about you. She sends her love.”

“Tell her thanks,” Sirius smiles. “I’ll take that.” He holds on to Remus. The sky seems huge and dark now that the fireworks have stopped. As the smoke disperses, the stars appear, cold and bright.  
Dangerous times, he thinks. Bad things are coming. War is probably imminent. But, just now, it doesn't matter. 

 

II.

Remus arrives at last, frozen, damp, and exhausted. He smiles at them all, accepts brief hugs and pats on the back from Kingsley, from Arthur, from Molly, and Tonks, and he shakes Moody’s hand. The last in line, Sirius hugs him, too, before cupping his face and snogging him fiercely.

“Steady on,” Remus smiles, surprised and amused, when Sirius lets him come up for air.

“Just glad you're back in one piece,” Sirius huffs, pressing Remus close to his chest. “Had me worried there.”

“Tough as old boots, you know that,” Remus mumbles. They briefly kiss once more before he extricates himself from Sirius’ embrace and clears his throat. “Shall we have this meeting then?” 

\---

They’re sharing a bed again. And though it’s wonderful, it’s not quite right, Remus thinks, listening to Sirius snoring softly in the dark. They’re too cautious somehow, too polite. He’s still getting used to Sirius’ thin body, his strange way of sleeping with his limbs neatly tucked in, barely moving. Sirius used to sprawl out, take over the bed, hog pillows and covers. Now there's always acres of space around him.

Remus silently gets up, goes down to the kitchen for a cup of tea. He sneaks about the gloomy old house like a ghost. Making all sorts of dark wood creak with every step, ignoring the eerie shapes in the heavily patterned wallpaper. Tiptoeing past the portrait of Sirius' mother looming behind its velvet curtain. 

He remembers this house as it was, remembers visiting as a petrified teenager, and later, as a petrified young man. Number 12, Grimmauld Place has always had a sense of dread about it. Although he'd made sure Sirius' family were always well out of the way during his visits, their presence could be felt everywhere. Imposing, much like the sinister furniture, and vaguely menacing, like the many bizarre antiques and artefacts lurking in drawers and vitrines and glass tables. All those opulent wall hangings showing brutal scenes of battle, and shelves and shelves of beautifully bound books bearing rather bloodthirsty titles. For all its luxury and extravagance, the Black family residence has always felt uncomfortable, and dangerous.

Soon after Sirius was locked up for killing their three best friends, Remus banished him from his mind. His grief and his anger were too horrendous to bear, so he drew a line and closed the chapter and left it all behind. For twelve long years he only ever thought of Sirius in the vaguest of terms. 

Then the truth came out and shook him badly. The memory fogging charms snapped and dissolved the second he realised what must have actually happened, and they laid bare a lot of raw emotion. Of course he was overjoyed, relieved, delighted that Sirius was innocent. That he'd been right about him all along, right never to truly have believed that Sirius could have betrayed them. There was guilt, too, for having doubted his own judgement, for having abandoned his friend, for having left him to rot in prison for a dozen years.

Remus had been frightened for Sirius, what it must have done to him. And he was deeply disturbed by the ragged, starved, deranged shadow of a man he encountered that fateful night. 

Now though, so much later, they've almost got used to each other again. It's taken a while. But apparently they each wanted, each needed the other back, and there was no avoiding the fact. The old marks of love and commitment they solemnly charmed onto each other's skin back when they were foolish young men are as bright again now that they are foolish and so much older. Not that the one on his own chest ever completely faded. He hasn't dared ask about its counterpart, knowing full well that since he'd banished all thoughts of Sirius for over a decade, until recently it must have all but disappeared. 

Even in an abstract way those twelve years in Azkaban were too horrific to contemplate. Now that Sirius and Remus are close again, intimate, and present, the years of imprisonment have suddenly become more real to Remus, too. Sirius doesn't speak of them. But when he is next to him, the past is there with them, not as hair-raising stories to tell, but in Sirius' body, in his mind, in his dreams. 

The large elegant hands that touch him have scraped and strained against shackles and chains and prison walls. The storm grey eyes have seen untold unspeakable things. And symbols and strange designs cover a lot of his torso, etched there by varying hands, Remus isn't quite sure whose. Some of the tattoos Sirius has explained to him - memory charms, protection spells, talismans of strength and defiance. Some are just pictures, like the silhouette of a stag, or the silhouette of a wolf running across his arm. It's painful knowing that while Sirius was permanently marking his skin in order to remember them, Remus would have been far away, in Africa or Asia or the Far East, trying his hardest to forget it all. To wipe him from his mind, to erase any feelings completely. 

Back then he thought he'd lost the most important part of himself. He’d felt profoundly and permanently changed, as though there suddenly was a different person in his skin. Now he's got him back. Before, there had been that gaping chasm of insurmountable pain, constantly threatening to swallow him whole. It eventually mellowed into a bearable, numb void. Now there is pure, quiet joy. Growing daily, permeating everything. Thawing Remus from the inside, warming his sad old heart. 

That night when they first met again in the Shrieking Shack, they embraced only briefly, but it was all it took. A thousand memories flooding back, things he'd no idea he remembered. The instant physical response, like magnets snapping together. His missing piece, his other half, the person with whom everything has always been so much better.

He knows that there's a lot of raw emotion tied up with his perception of Sirius - as though he's stepped from a pensieve, Sirius embodies all sorts of long banished memories, of James and Lily, of their shared youth, their many reckless adventures. Memories of that golden, innocent time when Remus had felt both exceptionally lucky and genuinely happy. Memories of deep friendship, and of love - the like of which Remus has never experienced again. Things that ironically Sirius himself can't remember since the Dementors got to him. 

A creaking step startles Remus. He must have been blindly stirring his tea for ages.

“Moony?” Sirius’ tousled head appears in the doorway, blinking.

“Couldn't sleep,” Remus says. “Cup of tea?”

“Nah, thanks.” Sirius approaches and takes Remus’ hand. “Come back to bed,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes.

“Yes, all right.”

Sirius heads for the door, pulling Remus by his hand. “Come on then.”

\---

The next morning is grey, and cold.

Life is miserable here, Remus thinks, peering out of a dusty window. His cleaning charm hasn't improved things - all there's to see clearly through newly polished panes is dark clouds and leaden skies.

While he usually spends about an hour every morning studying the papers, today he finds that he doesn't want to know, and leaves them on the windowsill, untouched.

He’s got some supplies in, and cooks them a full English breakfast. There's even some flowers that he’s found in a neglected lay-by - blue dog violets and purple knapweed, a couple of late poppies, dandelion and a few buttercups. And there’s music playing on the portable gramophone, something easy and cheerful. 

He’s learned how to brighten a place up, how to rouse the spirits, to fend off the encroaching fog of numbing, paralysing depression. He's had to learn how, during those first long lonely years, so as not to go under. Who knows what even kept him going; he suspects it might have been the wolf.

They eat, and Remus cracks a few jokes, but he soon realises that it doesn't work. None of it. Sirius is keeping up a front, but he’s not managing especially well. There’s no joy to be had here. 

So Remus voices an idea he’s had on his mind for a long time. A dream, really, since it seems selfish, and impossible. But he proposes it anyway. “Listen,” he begins tentatively. “How about we go away for a few days?”

Sirius gives him a weary look. “Too dangerous, isn’t it?”

“Not if we keep a low profile. I was thinking… we could go abroad. Somewhere isolated and lonely. We would have to apparate, obviously, and that part will be dangerous. But as long as we don’t use magic after that, we will have as good as disappeared.”

Sirius is staring at him now, “Don’t they need you here?”

“We’d only take a few days off.” Remus says. “It would do us a world of good. We need to keep up the morale, after all. I'm sure - I'm sure even Albus would agree.” To his amazement, Remus himself actually finds this plausible.

Narrowing his gaze, Sirius waits. Then he grins. “You mean a holiday? Really?” 

“Yes. What do you think?”

“I think Albus is going to give you the bollocking of a lifetime when he finds out.”

Remus shrugs. “I'll risk it. If he does find out.”

\---

The two men appear near the train station and stroll on as though they know where they’re going. It’s barely nine o’clock and already very hot. Their thin Muggle suits and panama hats that seemed ridiculous only a minute ago at Grimmauld Place, now seem to make perfect sense. The sun-bleached Sicilian town is made of stucco and white marble, very pretty, and very quiet. There’s only a few people about in the narrow, shady streets, hardly anyone roaming the spacious, opulent piazzas. 

They stop for a short, strong coffee, and look at the painted interior of a church. The heat is oppressive, purging, mind numbing. Eventually, Remus finds the garage, and chats to the attendant. He does speak Italian fluently, but the man’s dialect is thick and strange. Remus has to keep asking him to repeat things. Meanwhile, Sirius just stands there in the sun, motionless, sweating, with his eyes closed, and a smile on his lips. Remus sees him toying with the end of his wand, hidden in his sleeve. They’re both still nervous. No matter that in theory this place should be safe.

With the paperwork filled in, Remus is presented with the keys to a red, middle-aged Muggle car. “Do you remember how to drive one of these?” he asks while they let the hot air out. Sirius isn’t sure. So Remus throws him the fold-out map he’s bought and takes the wheel. 

\---

Once they leave the motorway, they swap seats. Sirius is excited, he stops and starts once or twice, and gets confused about which side of the road to keep to, then continues smoothly. Things have always come easily to him, Remus remembers, even back at Hogwarts… and he realises it no longer hurts as much, thinking of Hogwarts or of James and Lily. Now that there’s someone to share the burden, his dead friends seem somehow less - gone.

They don’t talk much as they follow dusty roads, passing dry fields, small copses of trees, and huge cacti full of prickly pears. Sirius is absorbed in his driving, and Remus is melting in the passenger seat. It’s too hot to think. They pass through villages of crumbling baroque sandstone, and finally arrive in the town by the sea. The tall pink and white houses look a bit grubby, oleander trees and bougainvillea line the cobbled streets. They leave the car near the marina, and have a look around. The market is just closing, Remus buys lemons and ham. 

People here are short and dark and stocky, they’re busily running all over the place, chatting and shouting constantly and laughing a lot. Many of them eye the two strangers curiously. Remus hopes he and Sirius will pass as Muggle tourists. There’s a swordfish head sitting on a crate, sword and all, its glassy eyes staring. They get a few more supplies from a corner shop and sit outside a small restaurant for a plate of pasta. When they return to the car, they take a moment to watch the boats bobbing in the calm, blue sea. Fishing boats and sailing boats mainly, but a few bigger yachts, too.

“There’s something here,” Remus says vaguely, “I don’t know what it is. But I don’t like it. Maybe we shouldn’t stick around.”

“Let’s go,” Sirius nods and chucks him the keys.

\---

They drive along the coast, stopping once to jump into the sea. The water is not actually cold, but deeply refreshing. There’s a few other people on the beach, all of them deeply bronzed. Remus and Sirius are white as ghosts. 

Later, they have an afternoon drink in a beautiful village square. The jovial owner of the café offers to organise them a place to stay the night. Soon enough, his friend arrives, an agent. And a few drinks later this agent takes them to see a nearby flat that they’ve as good as agreed on. It’s big, with high ceilings and elaborately tiled floors and a large marble bath, and Remus can’t believe how cheap it is.

Feeling luxuriant and privileged and lucky, they get drunk that night, first in the square where they have dinner, and later at the flat. Tumbling into bed at last, Remus is dizzy and hot and ridiculously happy. Sirius strips him of his sticky, salty clothes, then takes off his own. He smells amazing, Remus thinks as he pulls him close, and catches himself thinking, like he used to. This is what Padfoot is like when he’s free.

\--

They spend the next two days exploring the area. Finding remote beaches, jumping off rocks into the sea, where they swim amongst swaying boats and colourful buoys. The water is deep blue and turquoise, beautifully cool. Diving into it is like entering another world, silent and remote, without any cares or concerns.

It's as though they've made a pact, not to discuss anything serious. Neither of them mentions the war, or the Order. They only lightly skim over things in the past. 

They share a local delicacy, hot from the massive wood-fired stone oven in a small and scorching Muggle bakery. The crisp disc of dough is covered with delicate potato slices, charred slivers of onion, tomatoes, chopped olives and anchovies, and scattered with capers. It tastes light and delicious, as salty as the sea. They wash it down with a sweet drink made from bitter oranges. They eat sliced melon, and almond ice cream. 

Remus likes watching Sirius eat. Slowly, deliberately, inspecting each mouthful before tasting it. He enjoys his food, sucking his fingers, and he doesn't hide his delight at the sweet and rich flavours so readily on offer. 

Later, they stop by the road just to breathe the heady perfume of a fig tree. They pick a few of the shiny dark fruit.

“Did you ever go back to girls, then?” Sirius asks, examining his half eaten fig. “Or did you stick to blokes only?”

Remus shrugs. “A bit of both.” He wonders what this is leading up to. "Blokes, mainly."

Sirius frowns and nods, but doesn’t say any more about it.

\---

At night, Sirius is open to him. They seem to have been thawed by the heat, loosened up by the sea. Their senses are awake to the scents of night blooming jasmine, to the crispness of the sheets, to the beautiful touch of each other’s skin. They come together and apart, it's messy, and delicious, and at times sort of hilarious. 

Remus sleeps deeply, luxuriates in their lazy morning of crumpled sheets and tangled limbs. 

When Sirius gets up, he takes his time in the bathroom, and emerges clean shaven and well turned out. 

Remus expects him to be skittish, and is surprised by his nonchalance and his black sense of humour. He has always been wildly charmed by Sirius’ ability to surprise him. As good as he is at reading people, he’s never been able to definitely predict what Sirius might get up to next.

If they’d actually had the chance, he wonders idly, would they have lasted? He thinks they might well have. 

\---

Of course Remus has brought a book, only the one - he had security on his mind when packing, rather than actual leisure. Lying on his stomach in the sand, listening to the waves, he stares at the yellowed pages of his novel, pretending to take it in. 

His mind is on the man next to him, dozing beatifically. Or examining shells, or frowning at the horizon. Wading into the sea, splashing and diving and disappearing for ages, before materialising on a distant pontoon, waving frantically. 

It is actually a very good book. Gripping, full of action and curious moral quandaries. But it’s all meaningless now, it all seems irrelevant and even boring.  
He wishes there was time for them to get a tan. 

\---

Further south, the sun has scorched the land to the colour of ash and dust. Papery strands of seaweed, glassy brown and jet black in the water, are bleached bone white on the orange sand. The sea shimmers azure and cobalt and ultramarine under a relentlessly blue sky. 

Time passes slowly, like in a dream. The deafening hiss of cicadas. Damp towels. Wild hair. Salty skin. Sipping strong and sticky lemon liqueur in a dusty garden where a friendly old lady has given them lunch. Dozing while the hot wind blows in from North Africa.

When they ask the old lady about the lone red tower in the distance, she tells them that a wizard lives there, who grows herbs and sells enchanted tin and brass items. Remus pretends to humour her. But they leave soon after, somewhere else completely. 

\---

That night they go and see a band in a smoky bar. The music is loud, and noisy, and not terribly accomplished, but there’s some raw energy here, and it’s fun. 

It doesn't matter that they're probably the oldest people in the place. Sirius seems mesmerised. Remus watches him, his chest tightening. When Sirius meets his gaze, they both quickly look away. Bloody hell, Remus thinks. They used to go to gigs all the time, raucous, unruly events. Even if they’d leave a venue drunk and riled up and bruised, it used to take the edge off, in times of war. Now Sirius finds his eyes again, he grins shyly, and Remus grins, too.

When they walk back to the car, there’s a thin crescent of moon, dusky orange and low in the sky. And millions of stars, sharp and bright. 

“I haven’t asked you,” Sirius says, pulling the tab on his spare can of beer. It fizzes and foams, dripping onto the gravel. “I suppose because I didn't want to hear it.” He takes a gulp of beer. “I still don’t really want to hear it… But did you?" he asks quietly. "Have anyone… significant?"

Remus furrows his brow, he doesn't answer straight away. He can hear the sea, gentle waves lapping in the distance.

"Course you did." Sirius adds quickly. "I’d hoped you would. I mean - for all you knew - and I wasn't getting out anytime soon."

Remus shrugs and nods, with a small, wistful smile. "Yes. Of course I did." 

They’ve arrived at the car. Remus reaches for Sirius’ beer and takes a deep swig. "I really did try, to - to move on." he says truthfully. "Unfortunately no one ever quite measured up."

Sirius is watching him.

“There were only a few actual relationships, and they were generally unsuccessful. Flings, mainly, you know. I couldn't make anything last.” Remus takes another swig, passes the can back. “I must be damaged goods, I think, after everything that's happened." 

"Right." Sirius nods darkly. "I'm sorry."

"Will you stop apologising. It wasn't you." Remus looks up at the stars. "And – you? Did you...?"

Sirius laughs. It sounds bitter. “Fat chance. Not in that hellhole. Everyone is mad, starved, and terrified. Most of them thoroughly vile. Despicable characters, no one you'd dream of – getting off with. But there was – the odd bit of relief. Rarely.” He swigs down some more and hands Remus the beer. “Anyway, the past is a different country, and all that,” he says sort of breezily.

“Yes.” Remus touches his hand, and holds on to it. Sirius turns towards him, and they embrace in the darkness. There’s a string of coloured lamps over by the entrance to the bar, but away from the light, the two men are as good as invisible. Sirius feels very solid, very real, Remus thinks. Neither of them is the same as they were. And yet, together they feel almost exactly the same. 

\---

On the last morning Remus wakes up more refreshed, and more at ease than he’s been in years. Sirius is out on the balcony, bathed in golden morning light, smoking a cigarette and sipping from a tiny cup of strong Muggle coffee. 

“Let’s stay another day,” Remus suggests at breakfast. He dislikes being the one to make the decision, as though he’s in any position of authority. But it is he who will get the dressing down from Dumbledore later, and Sirius knows it. 

Sirius nods. “All right,” he says eventually. He gets up from the table and comes over, straddling Remus’ legs before dropping into his lap, and reaching for Remus’ face, he kisses him full on the lips.

Remus freezes for an instant, surprised. He still has serious misgivings - what if something terrible happens at home, and they’re not there to help? But he blocks out this thought and any others that might follow, and lets go, rapidly and completely, only touching and tasting and breathing in Sirius. They kiss for a long time.

\---

After a long day swimming, and sleeping, and shagging, they pack and pay up in the square as agreed. For an extra fee, the agent has promised to return the car. On a whim, Sirius and Remus take the evening boat to a neighbouring island. There’s a gentle breeze. They still have sand in their hair. The boat rolls gently, enough to throw one off balance, its painted steel floor is slippery with humidity. Remus and Sirius stay on the top deck, near the bow, away from the lights. The stars are very bright. They stand close together, smoking cigarettes, talking quietly against the deep rumble of the engines.

“I wish we didn't have to go - back,” Remus says quietly. “ _Home_ isn't quite the right word, is it.”

Sirius makes a noncommittal sound, the little ember glowing red as he drags on his cigarette. “Probably not. That place is no home,” he says darkly. “Never has been, not since I was eleven… Do we really have to go back? Can't we just set up somewhere in these parts, and forget about the war…”

“If only,” Remus says dryly. He's surprised by how bitter he sounds.

Sirius drags on his cigarette, eyeing Remus with a long sideways glance. “You know, even back at Hogwarts, I always thought – that since I’d never had a home anywhere, not truly, not like everyone else – that perhaps I never would. But of course I did.”

Remus waits, unsure what his old friend is getting at.

“It's good to be home again,” Sirius mumbles. 

For a moment, Remus is lost for words. “Yes,” he says then, and swallows. “At – at last.”

Voices and laughter sound further along the deck. Sirius flicks his cigarette end into the darkness. “Let's get a drink.” 

\---

The dream ends as quickly as it began. One final, glorious and scorching day, a turquoise lagoon, and sunburn. Fresh peaches, and fresh fish. Sirius tries sea urchin, Remus finds a starfish. The last gin and tonic overlooking the harbour, then one more for the road. And then, in a stinking back alley strewn with rubbish, in the hot blast from a restaurant kitchen extractor fan, they clasp their suitcase and each other and bravely return.

That night, back in the bed made of dark carved oak, Remus stares up at the heavy hangings. He breathes in the vile old, musty smell. Next to him, Sirius is snoring softly. They’re closely entangled. There's still traces of salt and sand.

They will have another two days at least, Remus thinks. Then he’ll be given a new mission, and he'll have to leave again.


End file.
